


A Promise Made To Be Broken

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Europe-era, F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-16
Updated: 2003-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some promises aren't meant to be kept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Made To Be Broken

**Author's Note:**

> _Written for Merry's Don't Ask Me Why Challenge._
> 
> _With many, many thanks to Linda, Rhys, Stella and Lily for patience and assistance in getting this thing done. y'all rock._

_   
_

_didn't we promise  
we would only be friends_

Life, Chris thinks sometimes, would a lot easier if it came with a remote, complete with 'fast-forward', 'rewind' and 'pause'. Volume up/down would be good too, for hung over mornings-after, but really, that would be indulgence above and beyond.

The rest of it, though...that would be sweet.

Handy, too, for things like a crappy score on an algebra test. Rewind, and presto! Better grade. Or fast-forward for things like that first date with Susan Bryant, when he banged his lips on her braces, and she squeezed too hard, and they just didn't-work out, but the moment just.wouldn't.end. Pause on the days he had to work before school, so he would have time to shower before the bell rang. Fast-forward through the nights the girls shivered in the backseat of mom's car, when there was nowhere else to sleep. Rewind on his first kiss. Fast-forward on his stepdad killing himself. Fast-forward over the assholes who'd mistreated his mom in the name of love and relationships. Rewind and do _over_ on coming out to his mom.

Rewind on saying yes to Lance on a night when his blood ran a little too hot and the energy within him shimmered along through his veins like tiny bolts of lightning. Rewind on saying yes to intoxicating kisses that fueled the fire and made him feel bigger, better, stronger. Rewind on saying yes to touches, caresses, to soft whimpers and cries, to tight heat that squeezed around him until all he _could_ say was yes.

~~~~~

Saying yes seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, sitting on the rumpled bed and watching Lance sleep, he knows it wasn't, for so many reasons.

It would be easy to get caught up in the moment. To make things so much more than two friends coming together. Lance is easy to like, would be easy to love. But he deserves more than a guy who doesn't know how to do anything but put up walls when people get in too close. He deserves someone who knows _how_ to let people get close.

Lance's skin is smooth and pale, and kissed by the soft moonlight shining through thin curtains, he looks almost other-worldly. Other-worldly and so young it makes Chris ache deep inside. He reaches out and touches the smooth cheek, strokes gently and feels soft down and the barest hint of whiskers. If he touched his fingers to his mouth now, they would taste like salt. He swallows, thinking about the line of Lance's throat, the arch of his neck when he tilted his head back, the way he whimpered when Chris licked the hollow at the base of his throat. He tasted like heaven. Still does, light and heavy both, lingering on Chris' tongue.

Lance shifts and smiles in his sleep, shuffles closer to Chris. The ache increases, tightens like bands around him, and it's hard to catch his breath. Shouldn't've said yes. Should've run like the wind...

And left a sad, lonely kid to be sad and lonely and maybe get himself in a lot of trouble.

If he's honest - and Chris tries always to be honest with himself - he wasn't just being altruistic. He's lonely too, and maybe just as sad, in his own hyper, manic way, and sex with Lance is...well. Something he's thought about off and on since last October. He's managed to shove it down for the most part, because, hello, Lance is young. Jail-bait young. And Chris isn't. But even more than that, there's the whole relationship thing. Or non-relationship thing. _Don't fuck around with the people who you want to stay friends with._

Except standard worries and concerns seem to fly out the window in the face of being lonely and scared in the big, wide world of showbiz.

"No excuses," he murmurs out loud, stroking Lance's cheek one more time. No excuses, no justifications. He's an adult, Lance isn't. No, Lance wasn't a virgin, exactly-

_much_

-but that's still no excuse for what he did.

Maybe Chris is being overly melodramatic, because for all he knows, Lance just wanted a warm body and thought he'd be a good lay, without the potential repercussions of finding a stranger in a strange country. Just because he's seventeen doesn't mean he's necessarily going to equate sex with love. But it's happened before, and it could happen again, and Chris doesn't have the luxury of guessing, wondering, letting the person assume. He can't - won't - do relationships with someone he has other obligations to.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, the saying goes.

"Stop thinking so loud." Lance mutters the words, but they resonate through Chris, touch a nerve that's already raw and painful. He wants to bolt, tenses to move, freezes when Lance touches his hand and makes a quiet, uncertain noise that comes out as his name. "Chris?"

"Yeah." If he turns his hand over, palm up, Lance's fingers slide in between his. Just fingers sliding together. Not holding hands, not- "This is just friends, right? Helping-each other out." His voice sounds as raw as the words feel. _Rewind_, he thinks frantically. _I don't want to fuck this up. Need to rewind, start over._ "Promise, Lance."

There's a pause and Lance uncurls just a little, and Chris wonders if he's already too late in saying anything. "Okay." Another pause, the space between them heavy and uncertain. "Just friends," Lance says the words slowly, his voice sleep-heavy. He yawns and curls closer to Chris, almost like he's trying to comfort him, or maybe draw comfort, and when he opens his eyes and looks at Chris, his eyes are unfocused. "I promise. C'mon. Sleep." He blinks sleepily, making Chris think of an owl. "'S almost morning. Sleep here." He's warm, so warm, and Chris wishes again for a remote and a rewind button. Or fast-forward. He doesn't want to want something he can't have.

"Too tired." He touches Lance's hair, slides his fingers through the soft prickles, still sweat-damp, clumpy against Lance's neck.

"You're too tired to sleep?" Lance squeezes Chris' fingers gently, a gesture that seems at once reassuring and uncertain, and nuzzles his neck. It makes heat blossom within him-cuddling after sex is sometimes better than the sex itself, especially for banishing loneliness.

"Yes. No. Shove over." Lance rumbles softly, maybe an agreement, maybe calling him a name. Chris doesn't know for sure and is too tired suddenly to care. There's another bed right beside this one, separated only by the width of a cheap night table, but he doesn't want to sleep alone. It's too late and he's too fucked up in his head to be by himself, though that's probably the best thing for him. But Lance is warm against his back, body just enough longer than Chris' that when he spoons up against Chris, it feels good. The heavy arm sliding over his waist feels even better, and Chris closes his eyes and repeats silently, _just friends_.

~~~~~

That rewind/fast-forward button would be so welcome, the next morning, when Chris' head feels like the least little noise will make it explode, and every light around him seems to be strobed. He spends breakfast drinking coffee and picking at dry toast and wishing it were an actual hangover. Is there a word for waking up feeling guilty? A guilt-over?

Chris ignores Lance; tries to pretend he didn't wake up curled into his warm body, that they didn't trade blowjobs even before they brushed their teeth, and pretends he doesn't see the odd the looks he gets every so often from him, or the other three. He slinks off after three cups of coffee, leaving shredded wheat toast on his plate.

They have practice time booked at a studio today, and Chris is ready for the distraction. JC's waiting outside his door when he steps into the hallway; grabs him by the arm and shakes him once, none-too-gently. "What the hell, Chris?"

Chris snarls and tries to pull away, but JC has a death grip on him. "Leggo, C."

"Answer the question."

"Jesus, who appointed you guardian and protector? I thought that was Joey's forte." The grip tightens just a little and Chris scowls. "Fuck you. He asked me, okay? I didn't do some seduction scene of little boys. And it was just-a friend helping another friend out." Even saying it makes his stomach churn again. That's all it can be. He'll make damn sure it stays that way.

"He's young." JC lets go of Chris and takes a step back, frown creasing his forehead. "I'm just asking you if you know what you're doing."

"I-dunno, man. I didn't make him any promises." Chris sighs and leans back against the wall. He's tired. And a little sore. "I made him promise-it's just friends." He rubs a hand across his eyes then looks at JC. "I don't want to fuck us up. I don't want to fuck anything up. And I'm--." He sighs. "I won't screw us up. I promise."

JC shakes his head. "Just be careful, Chris. Don't hurt him. Don't hurt yourself."

"He was so-" Chris isn't sure how to articulate how Lance was last night. He's used to seeing him a little down; they're all homesick off and on, staggered by the rising tide of success, tired, easily upset. But last night it was more than that. It was more than missing home, and familiar things. "It's not easy for him," he says finally. He knows JC understands, because he's been there, done that. Him and JC both understand Lance, and the position he's in. Which brings him back to why he said yes...and why he shouldn't've said yes.

"What if he wants more?" JC doesn't give an inch, and Chris usually admires how someone who appears so laid-back can actually be completely unbending when the situation calls for it. Now it's a pain in the ass.

"I told him just friends, C. If he wants more he knows it's not gonna come from me." He stares defiantly at JC. "He's young, but not stupid, dude." Chris shakes his head. "Besides, for all I know, it was a one night thing, and he'll just-forget it. Y'know?"

JC snorts. "Yeah. Right. To all of that." Chris opens his mouth to protest and JC waves a hand. "Whatever. Just don't hurt him, that's all I'm saying. Be careful of-both of you."

He wants to respond to that, because hell, JC's not being fair. But the other three are filing out into the hallway, and Lynn's there out of nowhere, and it's time to go and dance and smile and do what he does best. What they all do best.

~~~~~

It turns out Lance wants more than just the one night.

Chris figures this out when he comes back from a quick trip to the nearest store for the German chocolate he's become addicted to, and finds Lance in bed. In _his_ bed, even. For the third night in a row. He stops just inside the door and stares for a minute, then closes it slowly and locks it, heart beating a little faster. It's hard to misunderstand what Lance is doing in here, considering he's under the covers, bare above where they pool at his waist. Still, he feels the need to say something.

"Lance-"

"I traded with Joey," Lance says, a little unnecessarily, Chris thinks. He kind of already got that one.

He sets the chocolate on his dresser and leans against the edge to look at Lance, folding his arms across his chest. Maybe then he won't want to touch. And hell will probably freeze over any day now, too. "We-you can't keep doing this."

Lance quirks an eyebrow up. "Why not?"

Spunky little shit. It's one of the things Chris admires about him. And why not, indeed? "It's. I'm not your boyfriend, dude."

"Yeah, and?" He shifts and the sheet moves, and Chris makes himself keep looking right at Lance's face.

"Look. Hooking up once in a while, cool. I'll be your fuck buddy. But every night...I just. We're just. We're friends, Lance. And. I'm-" Lance moves again and the sheet falls some more, and holy fuck, he's totally naked under there. Not even boxers. It's very hot. Very sexy.

And very hypnotic, too, apparently. It takes a minute before Chris realizes Lance is calling him, before he can force his gaze up from the shadows under the sheet and into green, green eyes. "It's okay, y'know." Lance ducks his head a little, and the sophisticated seducer of a moment ago disappears into awkward teenager again. "If you're not. If we're not boyfriends, I mean. I don't expect-I just wanna. Y'know."

"Get laid on a regular basis?" It's Chris' turn to arch an eyebrow. Lance flushes but nods, and Chris feels his lips twitch in a smile. "I feel like it's...like I'm taking advantage of you or something." But even while he's talking, he's toeing his shoes off and reaching for the fly of his jeans. "You should be getting a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or-something. Lance. Seriously, dude."

"Yeah, because me getting a boyfriend would go over so well with management." Lance shakes his head. "It is what it is, Chris. That doesn't mean I don't ever want to find someone, but. I mean. How're you taking advantage of me? I'm the one-" He breaks off and flushes a deeper red. "I'm kinda pressuring you, huh?"

Chris snorts, the sound trapped and muted where he's pulling his sweater over his head. "Yeah, because I get so many offers for sex that I'm turning 'em away left and right, and obviously you're _making_ me do this. Jesus." He tosses the sweater onto the empty bed - it's obviously not going to get used, at least until later - and follows it with his t-shirt and jeans, and finally his shorts. "Plus, y'know, sex with you is a major chore." He keeps his tone light, snarky, but Lance pushed the sheet all the way back while he undressed, and now he's lying there, body gleaming in the cheap lamplight, cock already half hard. Chris is, too.

"Yeah, I sensed that last night." Lance scoots backward to make room. "In between 'harder' and 'faster', I totally got that you were hating it." While Chris watches he slides his palm downward over his chest and stomach before grasping his cock and stroking slowly.

Chris swallows heavily. "Fuck, Lance."

"I was kinda hoping to fuck Chris." His eyes are darker now, hot eyes, and Chris swallows again, nods as he reaches for the lamp.

"That'd probably work, too." He fumbles in the drawer of the nightstand for the lube and condoms, then settles beside Lance. It's chilly in the room, but Lance feels like a small inferno, skin hot and damp. He knows even without seeing that Lance is flushed, a stain of soft red dusting over his chest and shoulders and neck. He's kissed that flush, mapped a path with his lips, for four nights now. "Pretty boy," he whispers, kissing now, mouth moving slowly over warm skin.

Lance purrs under his touch, shifts so Chris can move over him, and then it's kissing. Kisses. Hot, wet, long and deep. Kissing Lance is something Chris thinks he could do indefinitely, so he settles in, rubbing slowly against him, enjoying the friction of skin-against-sweaty skin. He loves the quiet, almost desperate noises Lance makes while they kiss; grunts and whimpers, low moans that sound like the soft rumble of distant thunder.

Foreplay is fingers teasing, hands stroking and petting and caressing. Chris waits until Lance is shaking beneath him, body vibrating like a tightly-wound spring toy, then slides downward. He mouths Lance's dick once before rolling the rubber on and slicking it up. More touches leave him quivering, panting as he shifts over Lance, sinking down slowly. He groans softly, hisses a breath out between his teeth when he's stretched wide, body still tender from the night before. The moment passes as quickly as it came, pain fading from a hot, sharp rush into gentle ripples and then into waves of pleasure that trickle into him slowly, then faster, as they move together.

He loved fucking Lance that first night, but Chris thinks maybe this is even better, watching the different expressions playing across Lance's face while he rides him; feeling Lance's hands tight on him, holding, stroking, teasing as they increase their speed, their rhythm shifting from slow and steady to faster, harder.

There's one moment when Chris wishes for a rewind, when Lance tightens his grip, fingers biting into the skin of Chris' hips, eyes wide and surprised as he looks up at Chris, mouth open for a low cry. He's young and beautiful, skin shining wet and slick, burning hot beneath Chris. He swivels his hips just a little, twists, and color explodes behind Chris' eyelids, pushing his moment into fast-forward blur as sensation slams through him. Orgasm hits like a spike of heat shooting through him, pleasure winding tightly around him and squeezing until he's gasping, panting little sounds that might be words, things like "yes...god...please...."

Afterward, with Lance curling around him like a living blanket, Chris shoves away the guilty thoughts as best he can. No matter what Lance says, no matter that Lance is the one pursuing him, he still feels like he's doing something wrong here. He can't offer more, not even the possibility...but he doesn't want to stop, either. He likes sex with Lance.

He likes Lance.

~~~~~

Chris gets so used to sleeping almost every night with Lance - not to mention that side bennie of getting laid regularly - that it doesn't sink in until they're actually landing in Orlando for Christmas break that Lance is going home to Mississippi for two weeks. No sex. No snuggling. No Lance.

Fuck.

The airport is busy, packed with throngs of holiday travelers, but compared to the roar of crowds in Germany that he's used to, it seems almost empty to Chris. He concentrates on watching Lance and Joey shove at each other, pretending he's not comparing each movement Lance makes to the ones he made just last night, panting and squirming while Chris fucked him.

"Chris." He looks up, startled, and scowls when Justin rolls his eyes. "Yo, earth to Chris. You catchin' a ride with Joey?"

"Huh?" He's tracking Justin's mouth, hears the words, but they're not making any sense.

"A. Ride. Home." Justin speaks slowly, over-enunciates, and sticks his tongue out when JC whaps him on the head. "You got something lined up, or you goin' with the Fatones?"

Oh. Duh. "I dunno. With them, if they got room, I guess." He efficiently flips JC off when he snickers, then ducks his head and looks around to make sure no one saw him. Like Lynn. Not that he thinks Lynn would care; he's seen her flip people off. But still. It's that adult thing he's supposed to try and do sometimes. "Y'all be back around the first, J?" Justin and Lynn are waiting for a connecting flight to Memphis; JC to Bowie, and Lance for Jackson. His own family should be getting in later in the day, driving down since that many plane tickets would cost an arm and a leg. Chris can't wait to see them. He hopes having Christmas with them will assuage a little of the weirdness lurking inside him at the thought of _not_ seeing three of his best friends for at least a week.

"Um. Dunno? Hey, Mom?" Yeah, trust Justin to shout across a crowded airport. Chris and JC exchange amused grins when half a dozen heads turn, none of whom are Lynn.

"Just go _ask_ her, dork." Chris gives Justin a gentle shove and ignores him when he flips Chris off before setting off toward Lynn.

JC bumps his shoulder. "So. Gonna miss Lance?"

Chris looks up at him sharply. "Dude. You're about as subtle as, oh, _me_. I'm gonna miss all of you. Well, maybe not _you_, after that-"

"Chris." There's that Look again; the one Chris thinks JC must practice every day in the mirror, else how would he be so good at it?

"I...we keep telling all of you-we're not a couple. Just. Buddies doin' the nasty." Chris makes a crude gesture and JC shakes his head and frowns.

"Such a romantic soul."

"Yeah, because every time you fuck someone, it's the height of romance." Why're they having this conversation anyway? It's been done to death, he's tired of it, and it's Christmas. Chris just wants to go home, air out the house and then collapse quietly until his mom and the girls show up.

"You don't even see it when it's right in front of your face, do you?" JC runs his fingers through his hair - finally growing out a little - and makes a face at Chris. "You might as well be a couple; y'all spend most of your time together, you have your little in-jokes, you sleep together-"

"Would you kindly keep your voice down, dude? Don't need all of Orlando to know." Chris glares at JC, then grits his teeth. "We are just. friends. Okay? Friends who happen to fuck," he hisses quietly. "And the rest of you can go hang, 'cos it's none of your business."

"It will be if the two of you don't-"

Chris closes his eyes and counts to ten, then twenty, and then looks at JC. "Just. Fucking. _Drop_ it, C."

He's not sure what expression's on his face, but JC nods and takes a step back, bumps into Joey and Lance. Lance is smiling, but it slides right off his face when he looks at Chris. "Hey, what's-um."

"Your boyfriend's an ass," JC says quietly before turning in the direction Justin disappeared in.

"I'm not-" Chris sighs. "Fuck it. Forget it. God, this was supposed to be a good day." He closes his eyes and wishes for a rewind. Then he could just bite his tongue when JC talks, and move along. "Never mind. When's your flight leave, dude?"

"'Bout an hour." Lance glances at his watch, then looks at Chris, something unreadable in those odd green eyes. "You ridin' with Joe?"

"I dunno. Guess so. Joey--?"

"Dad said there was plenty of room for you." Joey waves a hand toward where his parents are talking with Lynn and JC, Justin nowhere to be seen. "Your mom comin' in tonight?"

Chris smiles. "Yeah. At least, I'm guessing so. Your mom didn't say anything different, so, as far as I know."

"Cool. We'll take you back to our place and you can get your car. You're probably gonna need to get some groceries."

"Maybe. Johnny said he talked to Lou and someone was gonna get at least the basics. I hope they did." He just wants to sleep. For a long time. In a bed that's big and comfortable and-

Fucking hell. Empty, too.

"Chris?" Lance is a step closer than a minute ago. Both him and Joey are watching him.

"What?" His voice is maybe a little sharper than it needs to be. Just fucking friends, he snarls to himself. That's all. Never anything else. They promised. He promised.

"What-you okay?"

"Just tired," he says shortly. "What gate you leave out of?"

"B terminal, Gate 27." Nooooo, can't tell Lance has memorized his ticket. Chris grins.

"Anxious to get home?" He clenches his right hand to keep from reaching for him.

"Maybe a little." Lance looks at him and flushes. "Um. Joey? Can I-we. I need. To talk to Chris."

"Oh! Um. Yeah. Sure." Joey leans in and hugs Lance once, hard. Chris wonders why it looks like Lance clutches at him for a minute and feels his stomach drop, wondering what Lance wants to talk to him about. "Call when you get home, okay? I don't care what time it is. Let us know you're there okay."

Lance smiles, a little stiffly, Chris thinks, and nods. "I will, man."

"Chris, I'm gonna go-hang. Um. Come find me after."

"Will do, dude." He and Lance watch Joey head for the small group of people near baggage claim before he turns to Lance. "Want, um. Did you want to walk toward your gate?"

Lance nods. "Yeah."

There are enough people crowding around them that it's hard to walk and talk - too much noise - but Chris can't brush off the weird feeling of alone-ness. Anonymity. After months of being screamed at and grabbed at and swooned over, it's kind of nice, though odd, to just blend in with the crowds again. They cover good distance fairly quickly, even with the crowds, and Chris is almost afraid they'll get to the gate before Lance says whatever it is he wants to say. Conversely, he's afraid Lance'll say it anyway, and he's torn. Dreading.

It's too much to expect him to be patient when he's this tired and anxious, so he stops midway down the extension and pulls Lance out of the crowds and against the clear plexi-glass panels looking out over the runways and parking slots. "So?"

"So...?" Lance looks a little startled, like he wasn't prepared for Chris to say anything.

"You said you wanted to talk to me--? Alone?"

"Oh. Yeah." He squirms a little and Chris braces himself. "It wasn't really anythin', I just. I wanted. Um. Have a good holiday." He steps just a little closer, and Chris swallows, looks around nervously, then back at Lance. At soft green eyes that make him think, ridiculously, of spring back in Ohio. He's not prepared when Lance grabs him roughly into a hug, pressing his face against Chris' neck. He brings his arms up slowly, hugs Lance close to him. Warm lips touch his skin, and he feels the words as much as hears them. "I'll miss you."

"Me too," he says softly, wishing he dared a quick kiss, then wondering why. _Why_, dammit? They were just friends. He squeezes Lance once, then pushes him away. "Take care, okay? Um. Call Joey. When you get home."

"Yeah." He thinks Lance says something else, maybe his name, but he's turned, walking back in the direction they came from. Inside he feels empty, like something's missing. The urge to yell, scream, to do something to break up the silence inside him is almost overwhelming, as is the urge to break into a run. Chris squashes the urge down, makes himself walk slowly, calmly. He wonders if anyone would hear, if he shouted out his frustration and unease and decides no. The emptiness he feels would swallow the sound up, instead.

~~~~~

Three more days 'til JC and Lance are due back in Orlando and they head for Miami to film their video. Chris loved seeing his family, but he's ready to see his other family again. He misses them all. Not just Lance. But maybe he misses him a little more than the others. A little more than he wants to - or will - admit.

Meanwhile, there's a few more days of relaxing and chilling to enjoy. Time to catch up with other friends, to play video games, to watch Justin sit on the phone and gossip like a girl, for which Chris has already teased him mercilessly, to keep himself amused.

"Jesus!"

Justin's voice is loud and reverberates around the den, and Chris glances over, away from his video game - he's practicing to kick Justin's ass once he's off the phone - at the same time Lynn says sharply, "Justin!"

"Sorry, momma. No, hold on, man." Justin cups a hand over the phone. "Yo, Chris. Joey says he talked to Lance last night."

"Yeah?" His stomach clenches. "How's he doin'?"

"Says he's got, like, a boyfriend, man. Some guy he knows from church or something."

Chris swears automatically when his player dies a spectacular death in the game, but he's not really paying attention to the game now. 'Boyfriend' is echoing around inside his head, sharing space with the little voice that whispers now he has what he's wanted - Lance out of his hair. There's another little voice, though, a bit sharper and far too gleeful, that whispers what he knows and doesn't want to admit: he doesn't want Lance out of his hair any more.

~~~~~

Kenny's a nice guy. Chris wants to hate him, just on principle - if nothing else, he's an outsider. Not one of _them_. But he can't. Or he won't. Kenny sends little things in the mail, cards and goofy things like silly string, and calls Lance every few nights, until even Justin asks how the heck does he afford calls from the States to Germany that often, to which Lance says quietly,

"Kenny's, um. Older. He's in college. Works." He gives Chris an unreadable look when he says that, and goes back to studying for his finals.

So, yeah. He treats Lance good, or as good as someone can when they're not even in the same country, and the couple of times Chris ends up on the phone with him for a minute or two, he's smart and interesting to talk to, and snarky as hell. He also used to skateboard, in high school, until he busted an ankle in an accident, and it didn't heal properly. He doesn't skate now, but he's still hip with the lingo, up on fads and fashions, and Chris can't dislike another skater punk.

He misses Lance in his bed, though. Not even just the sex, though yes, after almost eight weeks of nearly every day, he'd been used to it. No, he misses the stupid little stuff...the stuff that made the three J's call them boyfriends. The cuddling. Snuggling. Showering together sometimes. Knowing he could blow raspberries on Lance's neck and he'd dissolve into a writhing, snorting, laughing mass.

It kind of sucks to be him, and it doesn't help that the other guys give him sympathetic smiles and looks all the time, like they know he fucked up and - no. He can't even think that word to himself, but yeah. He feels something for Lance that's more than friends. He promised, he broke the promise, he's fucked, and it sucks to be him. That's life, he'll deal.

~~~~~

The more exposure they get, the more popular they are. Girls scream for them _everywhere_ now, and it becomes a sort of game to have a little bit of fun with the fans. JC pacing in front of the window in Joey's jacket and Superman cap; Chris wrapping his hand like a cast, and pretending to be Justin. Lance dropping a wristlet or armband from a third story window, and all of them watching the feeding frenzy that ensues. They play pranks on each other constantly, bonding closer than Chris would've believed five guys could. He, especially, welcomes the chances to act stupid and dorky, to burn up some of the relentless energy he's had since Christmas. In spite of the boyfriend thing, Lance is his best partner for a lot of the pranks; he looks sweet and innocent - as much as Justin, if differently - and even knowing it, the other guys fall for it time and again. It makes Chris feel less sad and guilty to know he can still play with them, even if he wants something he can't have any more.

Their pace increases with appearances all over the map, literally, and Chris wonders sometimes when he has a spare brain cell or two, how many frequent flyer miles they've logged.

March kicks off their very first tour, as headliners, as well as a celebration of their first gold record. Groupies are everywhere, and it seems everyone's a fan. Chris dates a cute little German girl who works at the hotel they use as their home base, and ignores the knowing looks the others give him. She's sweet and funny, and speaks English better than he speaks German, and she's good in bed.

He dates her through mid-April, off and on, until she gets tired of not seeing him five nights out of seven - as a generous average - and looks elsewhere.

Kenny breaks up with Lance about the same time, for pretty much the same reason Greta broke up with Chris, and this time, Chris can and does dislike him. Lance isn't heartbroken, but he's clearly upset; enough that he messes up choreography a couple of times in a row in practice, until their trainer is yelling and Lance is red-faced with embarrassment.

When the choreographer tells Lance he's seen better moves on drunken sailors, Lance goes bright red then pale before leaving the room quietly. Joey goes after him, and it takes JC and Justin both to keep Chris from jumping the asshole right then and there and beating the ever lovin' shit out of him.

They get the rest of the day off, and Chris gets his ass reamed out in person by Johnny, and again over the phone by Lou, who happened to pick that day to call in and check up on his newest golden boys.

"Fuck this shit," he tells Johnny after he hangs up with Lou. "We done here, man? I need to-"

"You need to chill out, Chris." Johnny frowns at him. "What the choreographer said was out of line - we'll find someone else to work with you - but you need to control your temper better. You're twenty-five, man, not fifteen. You don't go around swinging at people just because they piss you off."

"But-"

"No buts." Johnny shakes his head. "I mean it. Work on it, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever." After he's had some sleep and a few beers, not necessarily in that order, he'll work on it. Right now, he needs to decompress in a big way. "Can I go?"

Johnny looks him up and down slowly, and Chris wonders what he's looking for. What he sees. When he nods, Chris doesn't waste a minute getting the hell out of there.

Lance is in his room when he gets back there. Truly his room, because this is Chris' week to have the single - part of the reason he was looking forward to some beer and some sleep.

"I got the extra key from the desk," he says by way of hello, after Chris raises an eyebrow. "I wanted to say thanks."

"For what?" Chris kicks his shoes off then sits on the bed. Lance leans against the dresser.

"JC said you got in trouble."

He laughs, short and sharp. "I dunno if I'd call it trouble, but Johnny ripped me a new one-and then Lou joined in the fun and games."

"I'm really-"

Chris scowls. "So help me, if you say sorry I'll come over there and kick your ass, dude. No one messes with you guys. Not if I'm around." _No one messes with you._

"You just. Anyway. I wanted to say thanks."

"You're welcome. But it wasn't. I just did it. Y'know?" Chris looks down, then over at Lance. "And I'm-sorry. About Kenny."

"Yeah." He says it softly, not looking at Chris. "It wasn't. It's not a huge deal. But it was nice. Knowing someone cared." He looks up then, smiling wanly. "Too much, though. Boyfriend of a popstar, way across the ocean. He wants someone he can take out and do stuff with. And that would be...difficult, right now."

"Or ever," Chris says quietly. They're marketed as hot, single, and het. Not much room in the world right now for gay boybanders.

"Or ever," Lance echoes. "Anyway. I'm just gonna-go to bed. I'm tired. Long day."

Chris nods, watches Lance push off from the dresser. He's three steps from the door when Chris blurts out, "You could stay. Here. Tonight." After the words are out, he wants the fucking remote with rewind, because what the hell? But Lance stops, hand out toward the door.

"I'm-why?" He turns, eyes calm, but curious.

"We. It was...nice. What we had before." His stomach feels completely knotted up. Why's he doing this?

"We had buddy fucking, Chris." Lance pauses, an odd look on his face. "You said so. Constantly. That it was just friends."

"It was." He swallows roughly. "I thought."

"You thought?"

"Yeah. That it was just friends. I just-I miss it. You." He takes a step toward Lance. "I didn't think...I would. But."

"You miss me...how? As a good lay?" Lance's eyes gleam in the lamplight, a hint of smile mixed with uncertainty. "Or as more?" He's closer, close enough Chris can smell sweat and deodorant and cologne. "I'm really not pushing, man. But it's. I want something-more. To hang onto."

"More," Chris whispers hoarsely. "I'm-Jesus, Lance. Scared. As fuck. I've never...had. Never had someone I couldn't walk away from if shit went sour."

Lance cocks his head. "And you don't think you could do that? If we were-together? And broke up?"

"Not. No. Breakups don't always go well. And what if...I mean, we're busting our asses off here. I can't...won't...quit the group because of-personal shit. The J's would kill me. Us. If we fucked that up for them."

"Maybe." Another step brings Lance closer, and Chris reaches out hesitantly, touches his waist. He can feel his heat, this close. "But who's to say we'd break up?"

Chris snorts. "Dude, you're-okay, for all intents and purposes, you're eighteen. But that's still pretty fucking young to be deciding on forever, don'tcha think?"

"What, and twenty-something makes you so much more mature and wiser?" That damn eyebrow goes up.

"Well, I'm older than you, anyway." Chris shakes his head impatiently. "Hell, no. I dunno that I'm ready to decide on forever. No, I know I'm not. But I have...at least...more experience to base looking for it on."

"Do you want something that lasts?" Lance looks serious, his eyes dark and solemn as he watches Chris.

_Doesn't everyone?_ Chris sighs and nods. "Yeah."

"Me, too." He takes another step forward and Chris snakes both arms around him, pulling until they're chest-to-chest. "I don't know if it'll be forever, Chris. And yeah, I'm young. But I know what I want, at least for now."

He smiles slightly. "And that's me?"

Lance laughs. "It's _been_ you, dumbass. For like, months. And months." Chris raises an eyebrow. "Okay, and months. God. Give me a break here."

"No breaks. No quarter given." He gives into impulse and brushes a kiss across Lance's mouth. "Well, maybe one quarter."

He swallows Lance's laughter into his kiss, and shivers when it deepens into long, hot and wet. A coming-home kiss. He thinks about promises and breaking them, until he can't think any longer; when Lance is pressed hot and ready against him, mouth teasing and tasting and making silent promises.

Some promises, apparently, are made just to be broken.

~fin~

 


End file.
